Loki: Hold Fast and Fear Not (Being Re-Written)
by LadySparrow01
Summary: Please note that this story is in the process of being re-written. 'Sigourney felt like the world was going to fall out from under her. Loki, Norse God of Mischief, was sitting on her bed holding her hands. More than that, he had all but implied that he loved her.' - A Short Story inspired by the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Norse Mythology.
1. Part 1

Loki: Hold Fast and Fear Not

(A _Loki_ Short Story)

Lady Sparrow

" _But Hold Me Fast and Fear Me Not and I'll do to You No Harm"_

\- The Ballad of Tam Lin

Part One:

The dream had haunted her for as long as she could remember. Sigourney rubbed the sleep from her eyes and rolled onto her back. The ceiling of her bedroom stared back at her as the all too familiar images of the dream wafted through her mind. The gilded chamber, the circular door opening out into a vortex of colour, the raging old man with a voice like the sea crashing against the cliff-face, the heart piercing scream and then, as always, the explosion of colour and light that swallowed everything until only thick blackness remained. That was when she would wake up. And no matter what the dream started out as, it would always end with the scene in the gilded chamber. Sigourney couldn't riddle it out no matter how she tried. She'd done everything she could think of, sleep therapy, sleep medication, regular therapy, cutting out all caffeine, yoga before bed, jogging around the block when she woke up in the night. But nothing explained the dream and nothing made it go away.

She turned over to look at the digital clock on her bedside table. 5:07am. Somewhere outside songbirds were already beginning their morning concert. Sigourney sat up, her barefeet settling onto the laminate flooring of her bedroom as she tossed her blankets aside. There was no point in trying to sleep for another few hours. She might as well get an early start. She quickly pulled on the jeans she had worn the previous day and her favorite David Bowie tee-shirt. Then she wrangled her long dark-flaxen hair into a high ponytail. Her still bare feet padded softly against the cool floor as she made her way into her small kitchen. Opening the window over the sink let in the brisk autumn air as well as the birdsongs. She filled the kettle, popped it onto the stove and leaned against the counter, waiting for it to boil.

'Watched pots and all that…' She thought as she stared at the sky blue enamel of the kettle.

Sigourney turned her attention to the stack of mail cluttering the counter beside her. She had just picked up the first envelope when the unmistakable sound of pawing and whining came from the fire escape. She smiled to herself and tossed the envelope back onto the stack of others and ducked back around the wall that separated her kitchen/dining area from her bedroom/living area. Sigourney pulled back the drapes from the window that lead out to the fire escape and smiled. Fiske, her downstairs neighbor and landlady's ginger cat, gazed up at her through the glass. She knelt down and heaved the window open from where it latched against the floor. Fiske lazily slipped into the apartment as though he owned the place.

"You didn't get caught in the storm last night, did you?" Sigourney asked.

Fiske rubbed up against her leg in reply before walking past her into the kitchen. She followed and found her feline friend already sitting on the counter above the drawer where the can-opener was kept. By the time the kettle whistled Fiske had been set up with a small dish of canned tuna and was eating it happily as Sigourney fixed herself some tea.

"Don't tell your Mama." She warned playfully as she stirred sugar into her cup, "She says I spoil you too much."

Fiske only continued munching away at his snack. When their mutual breakfasts were finished, Sigourney put the dishes in the sink and pulled on her boots and baggy wine-coloured sweater. Fiske wound his way between her feet impatiently as she rummaged through her bag, hunting for her keys. When she found them the two left the apartment together. Fiske meowed loudly in parting as he scampered down the hall towards the stairs, not even glancing over his shoulder. Sigourney smiled to herself and locked her door. Shoving her keys back into her bag, condemning them to undoubtedly be unfindable for at least three solid minutes the next time she needed them, she too reached the staircase.

It was only a single flight down to the foyer. The building had been, at one time, a old style house meant for a single family. The property had been modified into a kind of apartment building sometime ago, it's rooms being renovated into full living spaces for the tenants. What was once the attic now belonged to Ms Greenwell, an eccentric English teacher who could be heard ranting to herself about the papers she was grading well into the wee hours. Sigourney's apartment had been one of the three second story bedrooms. Across the hall from her was Albert Wright, a musician and bartender. The main floor had been segmented into three portions. The first was where Mrs Hult lived, the second was her office and the third was the communal laundry room. Sigourney willed her boots to be quiet against the creaky floor as she passed Mrs Hult's front door, hoping not to wake her. Fiske must have already gone in through the cat flap.

The main door to the house creaked comfortingly when Sigourney eased it open and she was once again greeted by the crisp autumn air. The smell of late September, a mix of decaying leaves and rain, filled her up to the brim. The sidewalk was still stained dark gray from the previous night's storm. The thunder had shaken the house and the the sheet lightning had illuminated the whole sky. Electricity had been palpable in the air. But all that had quieted down into a still and silent morning. Now it was almost as though it had never happened. Sigourney jumped a particularly large puddle as she crossed the leaf and branch strewn street. The park on the other side of the road from the house had really had a number done on it by the storm. The trees, who had already been in the process of shedding their amber and crimson leaves, were all but bare now. A few had managed to hold on for dear life, but they would likely join the others in the next few weeks.

Sigourney loved everything about autumn. It had been her favourite season for as long as she could remember. There was something about the change lingering in the air all around her that made life feel exciting and full. With the sun just barely creeping over the trees, setting their remaining leaves in a glow like fire, anyone would say that there was magic in the air. Sigourney shoved her hands in her pockets and breathed deep as she passed under the boughs of the tall park trees. Above the birds were coming to the end of their morning recital. Looking up, they could be seen flitting between the branches. Today would be a good day. Sigourney was certain of it.

By the time she reached the far side of the park it was nearly six-thirty. The sun was fully up. There was activity on the main road that separated the park from the strip of small businesses on the other side. A few cars drove up and down the street and a jogger in a loose Captain America tee-shirt was just passing by the still closed cafe. It wouldn't be open until at least eight-thirty. Sigourney looked both ways, found a gap in the mild traffic, and crossed the street to where the bookshop sat nestled between the second hand clothing shop and the florist's. As always, it was about three or so minutes before she found her keys again in the vacuum of her bag. She shifted through the mess until her fingers closed around them and then shifted through the mess of her keychain until she found the right key. The lock clicked open with a satisfying sound. Sigourney shoved her keys back into her bag and shut the door behind her, flipping the latch of the deadbolt closed now that she was inside.

Normally, she didn't open the bookshop until ten-o'clock. And it would be eleven before Lavender, her highschool part-timer and only employee, showed up for her Sunday morning shift. Sigourney flicked on the overhead lights which hummed to life slowly. They illuminated the shelves and books in a soft glow. As Sigourney tossed her bag onto the counter she spotted the boxes still crowding the small space behind it. She sighed. At least pricing and shelving all the new material would fill the time until opening. She pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and set to work.

Halfway through the first big box of new books and a roll of pricing stickers later, Sigourney was singing along with the upbeat playlist her phone was playing through the speaker sitting on the windowsill behind the counter. She changed the sticker roll in the price gun and dug out the next arm load of paperbacks. They landed on to the top of the counter with a satisfying thud. She'd only just picked up the first volume, a dog eared and slightly scuffed copy of _The Tempest_ , when the unmistakable jingle of the bell over the door rang through the little shop. Sigourney turned with a frown.

Shutting the door behind himself was a very tall man dressed in a fine black suit. The dark material contrasted against his pale skin but complemented the raven hair that fell to his shoulders in loose waves. His face was handsome and angular, with a high brow and cheekbones, thin lips and a sharp jaw. He looked around the shop, almost anxiously, taking in the overcrowded shelves stuffed with second hand books. Then his eyes fell on Sigourney and she could see that they were a chilly shade of green. He smiled at her broadly when she met his gaze, deep lines creasing his face.

"I'm sorry, but we're closed." She told him in the voice she used for customers, "We don't open for…"

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter.

"Another hour." She said, it was only just coming up on nine, "The cafe down the street should be open. You could get a coffee or tea and come back?"

He raised his eyebrows, the smile fading slowly. For an instant emotion flashed in his eyes. He looked gutted. As though he didn't know that David Bowie had died and Sigourney had just told him in a crass kind of way. Then it was gone. A forced pleasant exterior rose so quickly that anyone else wouldn't have noticed. But the joy in his eyes when he'd first entered the shop had vanished.

"Forgive my intrusion." His voice was smooth and he spoke with an accent that sounded very English.

"It's no problem." Sigourney smiled at him, shrugging a little, "I could have sworn I locked that door. Must have forgotten."

He studied her for a long moment, then said, "Might I offer to buy you a cup of tea? To make up for not noticing the closed sign on the door."

"That's not necessary." She smiled reassuringly, "No harm done. Really."

"Is… is this your shop?" He asked tentatively as he looked around again.

Sigourney smiled again, "Yup. I've been here for about a year and a half."

"I see." He nodded slowly, "Well, I shan't take up any more of your time."

He turned to go but stopped just before he reached the door, one long-fingered hand paused halfway to the handle. Sigourney watched him turn on his heel to face her again. He furrowed his brow a little at her.

"Are you… quite certain I can't tempt you with a cup of peppermint tea?" He asked slowly.

"Well," Sigourney gave in, "I suppose that would be alright. But only because you managed to guess my favourite by accident."

She set down the price gun and scooped up her bag. A wide smile worked its way across the man's face as she came to meet him at the door. He held it open for her and waited patiently on the sidewalk as she once again hunted for her ever elusive keys. It was odd, but normally Sigourney wouldn't have accepted a spontaneous invitation from a stranger even if he had managed to unknowingly offer up her favourite tea. It was just that there was something in that look of utter disappointment he had given her. Something that tugged at her in a way she didn't understand.

"I'm Sigourney, by the way." She introduced herself as they started down the street towards the cafe.

He frowned a little, "Sigourney?"

"Yeah." She shrugged, "My parents are huge fans so I was named after her."

He looked at her blankly.

"You know... Sigourney Weaver? The film actress?" She pressed.

He only narrowed his eyes a little at her as though he still didn't fully understand what she was on about.

"Anyway, what should I call you?" She changed the subject.

"Locke." He replied, nodding to her.

At the cafe, Sigourney sat at a table for two next to the large picture window that took up most of the front wall. It made the small space feel bright and airy. The sounds of folks chatting amongst themselves filled the air in a pleasant sort of way. Sigourney chewed her lip as she waited for Locke to return with their tea. He had seemed to know her when he came into the shop. Or at least had expected her to know him. That was what the look had been. And the more she thought about it the more it perplexed her. She knew she didn't recognize him from anywhere, beyond noticing that he bore a slight resemblance to that very popular English actor whose name she could never remember. Besides, she knew she hadn't ever known anyone called Locke before. Not even as a child. It was an unusual enough name that she would have had no trouble remembering. So, about thirty seconds after he'd left her to fetch their tea, Sigourney had decided to ask him about it when he came back.

She drummed her fingers against the table, admiring the way the light caught on her silver ring. The band sat around her left index finger and glinted with each tap. Locke returned with a smile and set down two cups of tea. The scent of peppermint washed over the table, setting Sigourney's nerves more at ease than they had been moments ago. She watched Locke sit down across from her, unbuttoning his jacket and smoothing the front of his waistcoat. He certainly was dressed smartly. Perhaps he had just come from an early church service? Or a formal family breakfast?

"You've likely not eaten anything yet so I've also brought you a bit of cardamom tea loaf as well." He indicated the thick slice sitting on the edge of her saucer.

"How… how did you know I hadn't eaten yet?" She asked, glancing quickly between him and the loaf.

He shrugged and took a sip of his tea.

"Well, thank you." She said, settling herself, "I wanted to say that, before in the shop, it seemed as though… as though maybe you thought you recognized me? Or maybe you thought I was someone else for a moment? Have we met before? I'm certain I would remember if we had, but… you seemed…"

She allowed herself to trail off, feeling foolish, and watched him carefully. He set down his cup with calculated precision that resulted in only the slightest clink against its saucer. Then he folded his hands and thought for what felt like a long time. When he finally looked up from the contents of his cup his features were carefully composed. Calculated, just like his movements, so as not to betray anything again.

"What sort of books do you sell at your shop?" He asked in a gentle but deliberate tone, avoiding her question.

She stared at him hard, then replied in the same tone, "Second hand and donated copies of whatever is still in good enough shape to sell."

"And do you enjoy it?" He raised his eyebrows and took another sip of tea.

His voice uncomfortably conversational. Anyone observing them would think they had just run into one another after having gone through the world's messiest breakup not a month before. Sigourney shifted a little in her seat before finally trying her tea.

"Yes. Very much." She said over the rim of her cup, "And what do you do?"

"Political Science student." He replied without hesitation.

"What's that like?" She asked, the comforting warmth of her cup against her hands.

"Surprisingly taxing." He flashed her a charming smile.

"Where do you go to school?" Sigourney asked.

"Overseas." He replied, "Though I did study in New York for a very brief time."

"That must have been exciting." She nibbled at the tea loaf.

"It didn't go," He shifted in his chair a little and cleared his throat, "quite as I planned."

She offered him a sympathetic smile, "That's too bad."

"A matter of perspective, I think." He chuckled and drank from his cup again.

The conversation carried on in that manner until they'd both drained their cups and the tea loaf was gone. Many questions were asked and met with answers that didn't actually say anything about the one giving them. When they'd finished it was nearly ten o'clock. Locke walked her back to the bookshop, but declined going back in. This, Sigourney thought, was somewhat strange, but she didn't press the matter. They said a very brief and somewhat awkward goodbye at the door. Then, as she rummaged around for her keys for the fourth time that morning, Sigourney watched her new acquaintance hurry across the street and into the park.

' _What a curious man.'_ She thought to herself and unlocked the shop.


	2. Part 2

Part Two:

The sun was only just starting to edge towards the horizon as Sigourney locked up the shop for the day. The air had cooled somewhat and a breeze tugged playfully at the tree branches overhead. She noted, as made her way towards the park, that the early evening sky was perfectly clear. There wouldn't be an encore performance of last night's storm. As she passed through the park entrance she thought about her odd encounter with Locke that morning. Sigourney couldn't shake how strange it was that he wouldn't come into the shop a second time. Surely he had initially come in with the hope of purchasing a book. Or at the very least browse. Why else would someone go into a bookshop? What troubled her more was the fact that she had been so certain that she had locked the door behind her when she first arrived. She retraced her steps in her mind for the hundredth time.

"Perhaps I'm finally losing it." She mumbled to herself.

A magpie in a nearby tree cackled at her.

She stopped walking and raised an eyebrow at it, "Laugh if you like. But I think forces stranger than you or I understand are at work here. I know I locked that door."

Sigourney had always believed that the world was far more complicated than anyone really understood. Who was to say magic didn't exist? She had seen enough strange things in her time to doubt that anyone could say for certain that it didn't. If Superheros were battling it out with killer robots in real life instead of in comic books then surely a door unlocking itself wasn't all that strange.

She started walking again. The magpie flitted to the next tree, keeping pace with her as she moved down the path. Sigourney frowned a little, stopping again. The bird tilted its head at her as though it were wondering why she had stopped. Sigourney knew that they were rather clever birds known to sometimes play with humans. Her mind spun, trying to somehow string together the shop door, Locke and now a bird that seemed to be following her. It had been a very strange day and she was ready to go home. She hurried through the rest of the park, keenly aware of the magpie still following her but decidedly ignoring it. The bird stayed with her until she reached the front door of the house. It sat in a tree across the street, watching her as she collected her mail. Then it flew off as soon as she was inside. Fiske meowed loudly at her from his customary spot on the first step of the staircase. Sigourney reached down to scratch at his ears quickly before hurrying up to her apartment.

The next morning, on her way to work, Sigourney willed her life to go back to its regular old boring self. She breathed deep the scent of autumn and told herself that the events of the previous day were one time deals. The locks in the shop would work. Strange and handsome men would ignore her as they always had. Birds in the park would not follow her home. She would tend the shop, continue shelving the new books and be ordinary Sigourney once again.

The universe seemed to be complying to her will rather well until about an hour before closing when the shelf holding up a collection of encyclopedias snapped clean in two. It sent its passengers thundering to the floor in a disastrous heep, the resounding bang of which scared the absolute daylights out of everyone in the shop. When the mess had been cleaned up and the handful of customers reassured that everyone was alright, Sigourney and Lavender looked over the damage. Most of the bookcases in the shop had been 'rescued' by Sigourney from back alleys and thrift stores. Those were fine for the harmless paperbacks that hardly put a strain on them but, evidently, something sturdier would be needed for the more robust volumes. There would be no way around it. The newly broken shelf was unsalvageable.

"You know," Lavender tapped the end of her pencil against her bottom lip as she studied the shop's financial books, "there's enough in the supply fund that you could buy a real, proper, bookshelf. Like, a new one.

"Are you sure?" Sigourney asked, turning from where she was watering the plants in the front window.

Lavender raised an eyebrow, "I'm never wrong about math."

This was something Sigourney knew to be true. Lavender was brilliant when it came to sums. She would do her advanced mathematics homework while minding the counter and complain that it was too easy. Sigourney, who didn't have a mathematical bone in her body, welcomed Lavender's insight and support with open arms. It was a blessing to have someone around who not only understood complicated numbers but who could also explain them in a way she could follow.

Lavender smiled, dimples forming in her round cheeks. She was wearing periwinkle blue overalls, a polka-dotted shirt and floral sneakers today. The blue complimented her dark complexion beautifully. Her hair was all but shaved in the back and sides, leaving a mass of black curls on the top of her head. She twisted a strand of it around her fingers. Her warm brown eyes were intent as they studied the papers before her.

"Okay, I double checked and we definitely have enough for a new bookshelf." Lavender said, "Remember that big sale last month? We made more than enough to cover the cost."

Sigourney opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the sound of the bell over the door jingaling, happily announcing the arrival of a customer. It was Locke. He was dressed exactly as he had been the day before. He smiled at her. Sigourney smiled back despite the growing feeling that she had not, in fact, willed the universe back into mundane order.

"Hi again." She said, glancing over his shoulder to look at Lavender.

She was beaming, pointing to him and mouthing, 'Is that him? Is that the weird tea guy?'

"Hello." He replied, "I hope I'm not intruding this time."

"No, not at all." Sigourney replied.

Impatience got the better of Lavender, who leaned as far as she could over the counter, and said, "Hi! You must be Locke. Sigourney was just telling me all about you."

Locke turned and half bowed to her, "Is that so? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"Lavender." She introduced herself.

"A pleasure." He straightened, noticing the bits of broken shelf leaning up against the closest bookcase and the stacks of encyclopedias, "What's happened here?"

"We were just discussing that very thing." Lavender smiled.

Sigourney flashed her a look of gentle warning, "The shelf gave out about ten minutes ago, actually. Luckily we're closed tomorrow so, if I can find a way down to Ikea, I'll pick up a new one."

"She doesn't drive." Lavender explained helpfully.

Locke turned back to look at Sigourney, "Could I be of some assistance? I am in possession of a vehicle. I could easily act as your transport."

In a whirlwind that couldn't be stopped, Lavender and Locke commenced to make plans for the next day. There was no stopping them. By the end of it, it was decided that Sigourney would be picked up from the cafe at ten o'clock the next morning, be driven to Ikea by Locke, accompanied by him while there and then driven back to the shop, new bookcase in tow, so as to drop it off. Sigourney watched the two of them as though they were an impending storm. She leaned against counter and contemplated whether or not she should intervene. It was curious, but she noticed that Locke didn't really address any of his answers or questions to Lavender. All his remarks seemed to be aimed at Sigourney, too. She wasn't sure if she would have noticed had she not been watching the two of them carefully. There was nothing rude or deliberately cruel in how he interacted with Lavender, just a sense of desired distance. It was a solid five minutes before he slowly began to engage with Lavender, looking at her when she spoke and replying to her questions directly. And that was when the conversation really took off. The two seemed perfectly happy to plan out the next twentyfour hours of Sigourney's life for her. In the end she couldn't see the harm in simply letting them.

Locke ended up keeping them company right until closing. He continued to gradually warm towards Lavender, joking with her and asking her questions about herself. As Sigourney watched him laughing and smiling his entrance into the shop only yesterday played like a loop in her mind. That look of joy mixed with relief in his eyes when he saw her. As though he knew her. And the expression of utter dejection that flashed across his features… it was enough to break anyone's heart. She didn't understand it. He had avoided giving her an answer when she asked him about it at the cafe. Yet here he was, offering up rides and being friendly. The part that really confused her was the fact that it didn't feel wrong. There were no warning bells or sirens going off in her head, telling her to keep her guard up. In fact, the voice inside her was saying something very different.

"He likes you, you know." Lavender said in her matter-of-fact tone as she and Sigourney walked down the street together.

They had closed up the shop for the night and parted ways with Locke.

"How can you tell?" Sigourney asked, "You just met him. I just met him."

Lavender shrugged, "I just can. I think it's something to do with being seventeen. You're just in-tune with those sort of signals because your body's going haywire. It's the way he looks at you."

"How does he look at me?" Sigourney hugged herself a little against the wind.

Lavender thought for a moment, "The same way Alice looks at me."

Sigourney smiled, "That serious, huh?"

"Yeah." She smiled back, "Besides, he's cute for a boy. And he seems like he's reasonably normal. I think you should at least try to get to know him. But text me a couple times during your Ikea date tomorrow so I know he hasn't kidnapped you or something, okay?"

"Okay, deal." Sigourney agreed, then said, "But it's not a date."

"Sure." Lavender scoffed, "Whatever you say."

They parted at the corner, Lavender turning down towards her mother's restaurant and Sigourney continuing on to walk around the park. When she got home Fiske greeted her on the stairs but did not see fit to join her for dinner. So she ate her bowl of butter chicken and rice alone with her thoughts. No matter how hard Sigourney tried she couldn't keep Locke from drifting into her thoughts. Later, Sigourney lied awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, as she analysed her interactions with him.

"I'm being ridiculous." She told herself, "Just go to sleep."

Sigourney rolled over and shut her eyes tight, shoving the whirling thoughts from her mind. When she did finally fall asleep she dreamed she was being lead down a long, golden, corridor at a brisk pace. With her were two people in elaborate armour. One held her tightly by her upper arm, marching her quickly past huge pillars. The other walked in front of them. The ample emerald-green skirts of her gown flowed around her legs as she struggled to keep pace with the guards. Sigourney wanted to ask where they were going, but she couldn't make her voice work.

The sound of marching footfalls filled the hall slowly. Some kind of procession was coming towards them. She craned her neck to see around the leading guard only to have the grip on her arm tighten. It hardly mattered, though. She could see the procession clearly now. It consisted of six people, armoured in the same fashion as her guards, all surrounding a single man bound in chains. He walked with his head bent and his arms in shackles before him. It was Locke. Sigourney stopped walking.

Suddenly the dream changed. She and Locke now stood alone in the pillared corridor. He looked as he had in the shop. Tall, handsome and dressed in a very fine black suit. He stepped towards her with something like fear in his eyes.

"I will find you." He told her, voice on the cusp of becoming panicked, "I promise. I will find you."

He gently gripped her shoulders as he spoke. His eyes were brimmed with tears. Then the dream changed again and she was alone in a magnificent garden. She whirled around, skirts twirling about with the motion, trying to understand where she was. The sharp cackle of a magpie caught her attention. It sat perched on the low branch of a tree, tilting its head as it stared back at her. It's eyes were green. Then, suddenly, she was in the gilded chamber. The old man stood above her, his voice filling the domed space like thunder. He smashed his golden scepter against the golden dais on which he stood. Then, the swirling vortex of colour opened up in the chamber wall and Sigourney was plunged into darkness.

She woke with a start. Relief at being in her own bed filled her at once. For a few long moments the dream hung around her like fog. Then, slowly, Sigourney settled into the waking world.

"It was only the dream again." She told herself, clutching her forehead and closing her eyes, "It was just that stupid dream. You're fine."

Sigourney shoved herself up and glanced at the digital clock. 9:43am. She was going to be late. She quickly pulled on her clothes, settling for jeans and a grey striped tee-shirt because they were sitting on the top of her laundry basket. As she was in the bathroom, frantically brushed her teeth, there was the sound of something pawing at her window. Sigourney groaned and rinsed her mouth.

"I don't have time today Fiske!" She called, "Go try Ms Greenwell, upstairs."

The thumping, skidding, sound against her window came again. Clearly she would have to shoo him away by hand. Sigourney sighed as she crossed to windows, stopping for a moment to set her bedding to rights as she passed. When she reached the fire escape she drew back the curtains and nearly had a heart-attack. It wasn't Fiske.

Locke was sprawled out on the metal fire escape, leaning against her window, looking as though something had chewed him up and spit him back out. He banged against glass gently with the heel of his hand, looking up at her. His face was bloody and his hair was unkempt. In fact, he was rather disheveled all over. His smart black suit had been replaced by a rumpled green tee-shirt and close-fitting black jeans. He was barefoot, too, which particularly stood out to Sigourney as being strange.

Sigourney sunk to her knees, leveling herself with him, "Wh-what…?"

"Sorry to bother you." He groaned, voice muffled through the glass, "May I come in?"

He asked it as though he were there to borrow a cup of sugar. Sigourney fumbled with the lock for a moment before opening the window wide enough for him to crawl through. He scooted into the apartment, one arm clutching his side.

"How do you know where I live?!" Sigourney raked a hand through her hair, utterly bewildered, "And why did you climb up the fire escape?! How did you climb up the fire escape?!"

"Does any of that really matter?" Locke asked, wincing as he struggled to get to his feet.

"Yes! It really, really, does matter." She told him, supporting him under his arm as she guided him into her bedroom, and said half to herself, "This is either romantic or very disturbing."

"Romantic." He groaned as he eased himself onto the edge of her bed.

She ignored him and hurried to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit. When she came back he was leaning forward, a grimace on his face, still clutching his side. She knelt down in front of him and opened the kit, sifting through its contents quickly for everything she would need. He watched her in mild fascination.

"What happened to you?" Sigourney asked.

"I ran into some friends." He explained.

"Your friends did this?!" She nearly dropped the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"Yeah." His voice came out in a tight strain as he moved back to lean against the wall, legs so long they still hung over the edge of the bed, "They don't like me."

"Why didn't you go to a hospital?" She demanded, scooping up the first aid kit and moving to sit beside him.

"And miss our date?" He closed his eyes, grimacing, "Never."

"It's not a -" She cut herself off and sighed, still trying to find something to clean away the blood, "Nevermind. Hold on, I need a cloth or something."

Sigourney darted back into the bathroom. She riffled through her tiny linen cupboard until she found a clean dishcloth, then she ran it under cold water and rang it out in the sink until it was damp. The realization of what was happening hit her while she was doing it. She gripped the sides of the sink, forcing herself to breath.

"It'll be okay." She told herself, looking at her face in the mirror, "This is fine. This is totally normal."

Her blue-eyed and very freckled reflection did not look convinced. She grabbed the scrunchy sitting on the counter and tied back her hair into a messy ponytail. Then she grabbed the dishcloth and went back into her bedroom.

"I think it looks worse than it is." Locke told her, eyes still closed.

She eased herself onto the bed beside him, "Well, it looks pretty bad. This might sting."

Locke winced slightly against the sudden cold of the cloth but didn't pull away. Most of the blood seemed to have come from his nose and bottom lip, though there was a rather nasty scrape above his left brow too. It merged with the purple bruise that engulfed his eye. The blood came away easily, staining the cloth scarlet. Sigourney focused on her hands as they worked and tried very hard not to notice the way Locke was staring at her. His green eyes were fixed on her face. It was too quiet.

"Tell me what happened." She forced her voice to come out as evenly as possible.

"I already did." His voice was soft, gentle, "I ran into some friends."

"You're always getting into trouble. People who beat you within an inch of your life are not your friends." She countered.

He smiled, then winced, "No, I suppose they aren't. You're very wise."

"And you are very foolish coming here instead of going to a hospital. I should take you to the emergency room." She scolded him, cleaning his cheek.

"Oh, please don't." He pleaded gently, "I've had worse."

Sigourney tucked her fingers under his chin to turn his face slightly. His skin was ice cold. She jerked her hand away with surprise and Locke stared down at her. She didn't understand the expression on his face.

"You're very cold." She told him.

"Yes." He shifted slightly against the wall, "I know. Don't worry about it."

"You could be bleeding on the inside, Locke." She said, "I should call an ambulance."

She moved to grab her phone from the bedside table but was stopped by Locke's long fingers closing around her wrist. His grip was gentle and freezing. Sigourney met his weary and very serious gaze with concern.

"It's fine." He told her, "I promise you. Please, just continue."

For reasons she couldn't explain, she believed him. Sigourney settled beside him again and tucked her fingers back under his chin. She tilted his head slightly to get a better angle on the blood still coating the far side of his mouth. When that was clean she moved onto his neck, raising his chin so she could see better. He held very still while she worked and the two fell into heavy silence again. When his face was clean she returned to the bathroom to rinse and rewet the cloth. Then she cleaned the blood from his arms. They were mostly just bruised, through there were a few scrapes. His knuckles were grazed badly and slightly swollen. At least he'd fought back, then. When all the blood had been cleaned from Locke's skin, Sigourney soaked a cotton pad in hydrogen peroxide.

"I'm afraid this is going to sting." She told him, moving closer.

When the pad was lightly touched to the scrape above his brow, Locke jerked away and swore sharply, "What is that!?"

"Disinfectant to clean your cuts." She explained, "I know it hurts. Sorry. It's all I have."

He sighed and repositioned himself against the wall, "I hate this planet."

"What?" She couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Nothing." He shook his head slightly and shut his eyes again.

He looked as though he hadn't slept in days. It was a very different image than the charming and well groomed man who had walked into Sigourney's bookshop only just the other day. He was paler, if that was even possible, and in addition to the massive bruise there were purple smudges under his eyes. His face looked thinner too, gaunt even. As Sigourney gently applied the hydrogen peroxide to Locke's face, making his lips quirk with each touch of the cotton pad, she couldn't help but notice the scar across the bridge of his nose. Apparently having his face smashed in was something that happened semi regularly. She finished disinfecting his cuts and did her best to patch them up. Locke watched her, eyes never once leaving her face, as she wrapped his grazed and swollen hand in a bandage.

"I didn't think political science students were the sort to land themselves in fist fights all the time." Sigourney told him.

He chuckled, then winced again, still holding his side, "You'd be surprised."

"Who are you? Really." She asked, not looking up from his hand.

She could all but feel his eyes on her.

"This isn't one of your games. Be serious." She told him, "Do you know me? I asked you before, at the cafe, and you changed the subject. But I know you must."

"What makes you say that?" He leaned forward, his breath catching ever so slightly with the motion.

"The way you looked at me when we first met." Sigourney refused to meet his eye, "You know where I live. And you came here instead of doing something practical like getting real help. I only just met you the other day and yet you seem intent on spending every moment of available time in my company. You know things about me. And I feel…"

"Feel what?" He stilled her hands by covering them with his own, his touch cool against her skin.

Sigourney finally looked up, "Confused."

His eyes searched her face for a long time. He was trying to decide whether or not he should tell her what he knew. She could see it in his eyes. Sigourney wished he would just get it over with and explain everything. The fact that his face was mere centimeters from hers was incredibly distracting.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" He asked, dodging the question yet again.

Sigourney would have scoffed right in his face if his tone hadn't been so completely and entirely serious, so instead she said, "I don't know."

"Yes, you do." He raised his eyebrows a little, "It's a simple yes or no answer."

"Do you?" She studied his face for something, anything, that said he was joking.

"Yes." His tone was so matter-of-fact it nearly hurt.

"And now you're going to tell me that this, what's happening here with you and me, is love at first sight. You wandered into my shop, saw me and your heart was plucked from your chest, right?" It was hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Why not?" He asked, tilting his head to one side slightly.

"Because this isn't a book for teenage girls." Sigourney told him, "This sort of thing doesn't happen. Not to me."

"It is happening." He replied, still serious to the point of being funny, "It's happening right here in front of you."

"And this sudden and undying love is what lead you to my house and gave you the strength to climb up my fire escape despite the fact that, I'm pretty sure, you have at least one broken rib?" She asked, trying to make it sound as ridiculous as it was.

"In a manner of speaking." He replied.

"Don't lie to me." She moved to pull away.

His grip on her hands tightened ever so slightly, stopping her, "I'm not. I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"Is Locke your real name?" Sigourney demanded.

"No." He told her.

"Than what is?" She furrowed her brow, not sure if she should be angry or scared or both.

"It's Loki." He said, his eyes never once leaving hers, "Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim and Asgard."


	3. Part 3

Part Three:

Sigourney felt like the world was going to fall out from under her. Loki, Norse God of Mischief, was sitting on her bed holding her hands. More than that, he had all but implied that he loved her. Her stomach was practically in her throat and her hands trembled in his. Though, she couldn't be certain if that was from fear or the fact that his touch was glacier.

"Please say something." He said, a hint of panic in his voice, "Siggy, please. Say something."

"You…?" She started, "Siggy?"

He blinked at her, "Do your friends not call you Siggy?"

"I -" Sigourney spluttered a little, "I don't have any friends. Don't change the subject!"

"I'm not. I'm not." Loki said, hurriedly reassuring her.

Sigourney had seen the footage of the attack in New York and of the aftermath that followed. She knew what the man before her had done. In that moment, though, it was hard to believe he was the same person. He hardly looked like the interplanetary war criminal who's laughing face had plastered every screen in the world.

"You look different." The words slipped out before she could stop them, "Than when you were 'studying' in New York."

He looked away, his mouth tight, and said nothing.

"Tell me why I shouldn't call the police right now and have them dump you on Tony Stark's doorstep?" Sigourney asked, her voice hardly more than a terrified whisper, "I saw the footage from Stuttgart. I heard your big speech. I know what you think of humans. What you must think of me."

Loki's jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. He shut his eyes again. Sigourney's heartstrings twanged painfully within her chest. There was something in his sallow face that spoke of a great change between New York and this moment. She would have thought him almost sorry. A wave of compassion washed over her despite the fear still bubbling in her stomach.

"You're hiding, aren't you?" She asked gently.

He nodded.

"I'm not going to call anyone." She said, trying to sound calmer than she was, "They'd probably think me mad. But I need to know how you found my house before I get dragged into anything. How did you know where I live?"

"I followed you home through the park, that day I came into your shop." He told her quickly, "My intentions were honorable, I swear. I wanted to ensure your safety."

Sigourney felt her throat go dry, "And did you also unlock the front door of the shop that day? Using magic or something?"

"I did." He admitted.

"Never again." She told him, voice firm, "You hear me? You never do anything like that to me, or anyone else, ever again. I'm a person. You ask for my permission so that I can decide whether or not you're invading my privacy. Alright?"

He nodded again, looking very much like a child who had just been scolded, "I understand."

Sigourney touched her hand to his cold cheek and turned his face towards hers. He didn't meet her gaze. Instead he covered her hand with his own, pressing it to his cold skin. Sigourney couldn't help but be a little taken-aback. His dark hair fell across his features when he turned his face further into her palm. She could feel his breath against her hand, his lips against her skin. It wasn't a kiss, but it was very close to being one. She studied his face again, more carefully this time. His brow knit together as he squeezed her hand tightly to his cheek. It looked to Sigourney as though he had been craving this sort of touch for a long time and was now savouring every second of it. He was lost. And he was still clutching his side.

"Forgive me." He mumbled into her palm, his eyes fluttering open as he reluctantly released her hand.

"It's alright." She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way, then she gestured to his side, "I think I'd better take a look at that."

Loki nodded as he gingerly let go of his torso. Then he slowly pulled up the bottom of his shirt, flinching at the motion. Sigourney had always thought that 'bruised black and blue' was nothing more than an expression. She was wrong. The entire right side of Loki's abdomen, from his hip to his chest, was covered in bruises so dark they made the rest of his skin look alabaster by comparison. Sigourney covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a gasp. Judging from the grimmise on Loki's face it was painful just to breathe.

"You should lie down." Sigourney said through her fingers.

Loki nodded again, his breath coming out in sharp, suppressed, whines. He repositioned himself and very slowly stretched out across the bed. His feet still hung over the edge. Sigourney seated herself close beside him, her leg pressed up against his uninjured side. She gingerly pulled the fabric of his shirt up further to get a better look. He clenched his jaw, face scrunched in pain, and made a sort of choking sound in the back of his throat. Sigourney had never seen anything like it. She also had absolutely no idea what to do. The first aid training she had taken in high school, nearly seven years ago, escaped her completely.

" _Can_ you break a rib?" She asked, hands hovering uselessly over his abdomen, "I mean, is that something that's even possible?"

"It is." He groaned, voice tight, "But I rather doubt that anything is broken."

"Are… are you _sure_?" She stammered, "Because it looks pretty bad. Do you want an ice pack?"

He let out a slow shuddering breath, then said, "Laying here helps. I just need to rest."

Sigourney helped him pull his shirt back down, covering the mess. She moved to leave, but Loki's hand found hers. He looked half asleep already, lying across her floral bedspread. His long fingers intertwined with hers lazily.

"Don't go, Siggy." Loki mumbled.

"Siggy again?" She whispered to herself, shaking her head.

Everyone she knew called her Sigourney. Everyone. Even her parents. For as long as she could remember that had been it. No nicknames, no pet names, nothing but Sigourney. So where was 'Siggy' coming from? She didn't mind it. On the contrary, it felt… right… when he called her that. Sigourney shook the thought from her head and added it to the ever increasing list of ways her life had become strange over the past forty-eight hours. Loki, the prankster God she had read about as a child, was asleep in her bed. The fact that he had given her a nickname should not have been the most confusing part of her day.

At the very top of her list of questions sat the most confusing. Why her? Loki could have chosen anyone in the world. Anyone in the universe. It was a globally known fact that he hated humans. So why was he here in _her_ bedroom? Sigourney was certain it had to do with how he had looked at her upon their first meeting. The smile that seemed to say he was overjoyed to see her and that wave of disappointment that followed. As if it pained him to his core that she… that she what? Didn't recognize him?

"It's not my fault." She whispered to herself, "You look different without the helmet."

"Do I really?" Loki murmured.

Sigourney hadn't expected him to hear her let alone reply, "Yes. You do."

"Hmm…" He shifted a little but didn't open his eyes, "Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know yet." She replied, absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, "Loki?"

"Mmm?" He was nearly gone.

"Why did you attack New York?" Sigourney asked.

"I was angry with my brother." He sighed.

"That... is a very _bad_ reason to attack a city full of people." She told him.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." He mumbled, "Another in a long line of poor excuses, I know. Where were you? When it happened?"

"Scandinavia." She watched him, "Visiting my Grandparents. Two weeks on a farm in Norway and then two weeks in very small Swedish village. I was practically off the grid the entire time. I didn't hear about New York until I got back home. Even then, it's different up here than it is in the States. We get everything second hand so it feels more removed somehow. I guess that's why I didn't recognize you."

"Can you say it again?" He mumbled nearly incoherently.

"What, all of it?" She asked.

"No… no." He squeezed her hand a little, "My name."

Sigourney felt a little foolish, but said gently, "Loki."

A smile tugged at his lips and he squeezed her hand again. Sigourney sat with him until she was certain he was asleep. She was just about to get up and leave him again when a dazzling, pale green light rippled across his body. Sigourney's mouth fell open as she watched the light run across his skin. When it vanished again, Loki looked like an even more exhausted version of himself. His cheeks were more hollow, making him look sickly. Scars that hadn't been there moments before appeared on his arms and face. Sigourney couldn't tear her eyes away from his mouth. The scars around and across his lips, thin gashes that connected to deep pox in his flesh, could have only been made one way. Someone had sewn his mouth shut at one point. Sigourney raised her hands to her own mouth again, not believing what she was seeing.

Loki must have been using magic to maintain his appearance. It made sense in a way Sigourney could only just wrap her head around. She supposed that while sleeping he had finally relaxed enough for the spell to give out. She wondered, looking down at his ragged form, how much of his energy was taken up by that magic. If she had to guess, she would have said a great deal of it probably went into ensuring people saw him they way he wanted them to see him. This solved another mystery, at least. It explained why he had looked so different from the man who had come into her bookshop just the previous day. His well groomed and polished exterior had been hiding an utter disaster just below the surface the entire time. It made Sigourney's heart go out to him even more.

Loki slept for a few solid hours in which Sigourney fed herself and managed to go through some of her mail. It was just after one-thirty when she heard him stirring. She set down the letter she'd been looking over and walked as softly as she could to peak around the wall into her bedroom. Loki was slowly pushing himself up off of the bed, running a hand through his unkempt black hair.

"Are you feeling any better?" Sigourney asked.

He turned and smiled at her, "I am."

Loki certainly looked much better. His colour had returned and his face looked fuller. His injuries had nearly vanished too. Most significantly, though, was that his scars were nowhere to be seen. Sigourney watched him stretch and get to his feet. Evidently, his bruised side had also improved. She couldn't help but wonder how much of that was Asgardian healing and how much of it was the magic he used to keep up appearances. She almost liked his scar-ridden features better. They seemed more genuine than the perfectly calculated face grinning at her. At least his hair was still unruly.

"Good." She crossed her arms and wandered back into the kitchen.

Sigourney still didn't fully understand how she was feeling about him. She had hoped that by the time Loki woke up she would have a better grip on that part of things. Unfortunately she still didn't. It should have been incredibly simple. She should have hated him or been afraid of him. But she didn't and she wasn't. In fact, she felt sorry for him. Compassion, even. It was that feeling that confused her to no end. She would not allow herself to consider what he had said about 'love at first sight' and what that might mean in regards to her.

"Shall we go?" Loki asked, coming to stand with her, "Or do you require a few more moments to prepare yourself?"

"Go?" She looked up at him, blinking.

"To fetch your bookcase." He smiled.

"Oh, ugh." She felt her brow knit together, "I didn't think that we were still… going to doing that. Considering, you know, everything."

He raised his brows at her, "Why not? I'm more than fit."

"Are you sure?" She pressed.

"Yes, very." He chuckled and pulled up his shirt, exposing his middle again, "See?"

The bruises looked as though they had already had a week and a half of healing. They were no longer black and deep purple, but rather the light browns and muddy yellows that signaled repair. Sigourney could hardly believe her eyes.

"Well, alright." She shrugged, defeated.

"It's rather cool out." Loki mentioned, plucking her dark green cardigan off the back of a chair, "You may want this."

"Thanks." She took it from him and smiled, noticing that he was still barefoot, "You may want some shoes."

"Huh." He looked down at his feet.

Loki wiggled his toes a little. The same shimmering green light that Sigourney had seen earlier danced over his feet and black sneakers appeared there out of nowhere.

"There." He smiled at her, "Problem solved."

As it turned out Loki's car was a very boxy hatchback that looked as though it were straight out of the eighties. Sigourney stood on the sidewalk staring at the dusty black vehicle parked crookedly against the curb. She wasn't certain if she should laugh or run.

"You can drive, can't you?" She asked bluntly.

Loki scoffed, "I have piloted of far more complex transportation vehicles than this. I hardly think you need worry."

He sounded very confident. Sigourney's stomach was in knots as she got into the passenger seat. Loki shut her door for her, leaving her momentarily alone as he walked around the car to the driver's side. She fastened her seatbelt and pulled it tight across her lap. It gave her some comfort, at least. Loki got into the car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, making him smile widely.

"You do have a license, right?" Sigourney asked, still gripping her seatbelt.

"A what?" He laughed and pulled the car out from the curb.

Loki drove exactly as Sigourney imagined he would: a total maniac. He was all over the road, swerving around the other cars and screaming through intersections. The world blurred past the windows as they raced down the street. Sigourney pressed herself as far back into her seat as she could, gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles turned white. Loki didn't appear to notice that anything was out of place. He chatted happily, half to Sigourney and half to the road itself, as they barreled down the highway at top speed. When David Bowie's _Scary Monsters_ came on the radio Loki cranked up the volume and sang along. It was at about that point when Sigourney realized that they had, miraculously, not hit anything or caused an accident yet. Other cars laid on their horns as Loki artfully dodged around them, but no one slammed on their breaks or went wheeling into anyone. By the time the chores started she had relaxed enough to ease her grip on the seat and when the second verse began she joined in the singing. Loki let out a cackling laugh and tossed his head back, thoroughly enjoying himself.

It was a wonder they reached the Ikea alive. Loki screamed into the lot, found a spot, parked and cut the engine. Sigourney sat in the sudden silence astonished by the mere fact that she was still breathing. Loki got out of the car and stretched. He popped his hands onto his hips, surveying the large building as though he were planning on buying the entire thing. Sigourney shut her eyes and silently hoped that she would get through the day in one piece. A sudden knock at the car window made her nearly jump right out of her skin.

"What are you waiting for?" Loki's cheerful voice was muffled somewhat by the glass between them.

He was beaming at her as he opened her door. Sigourney returned his smile and got out of the car. Together they walked across the parking lot to the main doors of the building. Once inside, Sigourney lead him up the main stairs to the display floor. She wasn't even certain what kind of bookcase she was looking for. She would have to see what there was. Considering it was the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, it was only mildly crowded. Sigourney and Loki followed along the arrowed path with the rest of the shoppers, looking at the furniture set up all around them. She would have thought that it would bore Loki. On the contrary, he seemed rather fascinated by it all despite his best efforts to seem otherwise. He kept asking questions about mass production, as though the concept alluded him. Sigourney answered as best she could, not really knowing all the details herself. From what she gathered, he was used to incredibly fine, custom made, one of a kind furniture. She supposed it made sense. Wasn't he technically a Prince? Something that particularly caught his interest were the mock-rooms set up throughout the display floor. Loki spent a lot of time examining the kitchens and bedrooms, opening up cupboards and drawers.

"Is not this the same table in your home?" He asked, contemplating a two person dining table in one of the mock kitchens.

Sigourney laughed, "Well, yeah. I bought it from here."

Loki tried the tap in the sink, looking mildly disappointed when nothing happened, and moved on to the next kitchen. When they finally reached the section where the bookcases were kept the two spent a long time comparing and contrasting the available options. Eventually they settled on a white LIATORP. Sigourney took down the information from the tag all while Loki hovered over her shoulder. Then they followed the arrows through the rest of the display floor until they came back to where they had originally begun.

"Are you hungry?" Sigourney asked, gesturing to the restaurant.

"Yes, but why does a furniture vendor also serve food?" He asked.

"I don't know." Sigourney shrugged, taking his hand, "But the meatballs are great. Come on."

Ordering food in the style of a cafeteria line was, like so many things, a completely foreign concept to Loki. Sigourney did all of the talking, explaining as she went what the pictures and numbers posted on the wall were for. Sigourney payed for the food and Loki carried the tray, following her to one of the many available tables. They sat by the large windows that overlooked the parking lot. Sigourney could tell by the poorly concealed look on his face that Loki was apprehensive about trying the food. She wished the man serving them hadn't just dumped the gravy all over the dish. Still, she lead by example and started eating.

"So," She said, cutting one of her meatballs in half, "I have a question. Actually, I have a lot of questions."

"I'll do my best to answer." He replied, copying her every move as though he were scared of doing it wrong.

She thought for a moment, then asked, "Why are you on Earth again? I mean, I thought you hated us."

"Hate is…" He thought for a moment, "too simple a word. My feelings for this Realm are far more complex than that. As to why I'm here, I was under the impression we covered that earlier today? I'm hiding, remember?"

"Yes," Sigourney said after swallowing her mouthful, "but I was hoping for a little more detail than that. Earth seems like the last place you would want to hide considering that, after… everything, you're kind of the sworn enemy of the whole planet."

"I would think that's putting it rather mildly." He smiled and finally took a bite of his food.

Sigourney watched the expression on his face turn to surprise and then soften. It was almost like he had expected the food to turn to ash in his mouth. She smiled and took another bite of her own meal.

Loki swallowed and said, "To properly answer your question, I'm also here looking for something."

"What?" She asked, curious.

"It's… complicated." He nudged at the green beans on his plate with his fork.

"That seems to be a trend for you." Sigourney pointed out, but smiled.


	4. Part 4

Part Four:

When they finished their meal they disposed of their tray and dishes into one of the return carts before going downstairs to the warehouse. It didn't take long to find where the LIATORP bookcases were stored. Loki helped her load the two long boxes containing the parts onto one of the flatbed trolleys, then pushed it for her to the self checkout. This was another point of interest for him. Sigourney let him push most of the buttons on the touch screen as well as use the handheld barcode scanner. She was certain that he would have taken it apart bit by bit to understand how it worked if she'd let him. She managed to staved off his curiosity by buying them both frozen yogurt on the way out. By all reasoning Loki's hatchback shouldn't have been able to fit both boxes. Sigourney held his frozen yogurt and watched in astonishment as, somehow, he managed to get them both in and shut the trunk without a single problem. Loki brushed his palms together a few times and smiled.

"And you said it wouldn't close." He teased.

"It shouldn't have." She handed him back his cone, "I say magic is involved. Speaking of which, this has been bothering me all day. Are you technically still barefoot? Or are you actually wearing sneakers right now?"

He chuckled, "The shoes are an illusion. I'm barefoot."

"Huh." She thought for a moment, "But the clothes…?"

"Are real." He assured her, "Borrowed from the shop next to yours."

"So, stolen." She licked her frozen yogurt, "Figures. Did you get the suit from there too?"

Loki opened her door for her and said, as she got in, "No, those garments are also an illusion, cast over these ones."

He shut her door gently and walked around the car. Sigourney tried to wrap her head around the fact that Loki had just spent a couple of hours walking around Ikea barefoot. He got into the car brought the ignition to life. Sigourney did her seatbelt, readying herself for another bout of his manic driving.

"I have a question for you." He said as he backed out of the parking space, looking at her instead of over his shoulder, "Why did you say that you haven't any friends?"

"Because I don't?" She shrugged.

He finished off his frozen yogurt, driving with one hand, "What about the shop girl?"

"Lavender?" Sigourney was trying very hard not to think about how fast he was flying through the parking lot, "She's seventeen. And in high school. I mean, I do like her and everything. She's great. But it's not really as though we hangout on the weekends or spend anytime together outside of work."

He considered her for an unsettlingly long time, considering just how fast they were going, before turning his attention back to the road, "I see. I am sorry to hear that."

She shrugged again, "It's alright. I don't mind it so much."

"Well," He swerved around a white minivan, "now you have me."

Sigourney allowed that statement to sink in fully before laughing a little and saying, "I do, do I?"

"I am pleased to see my offer of friendship is amusing to you." He teased.

"It's just… unexpected." She told him.

Sigourney wanted to add that it wasn't a bad thing, but Loki ducked into oncoming traffic and was dodging other vehicles left and right. She latched onto the hand bar hanging above her window, pressing herself into her seat. The only thing that came out of her mouth was 'Loki! Loki! Loki!' in a shriek as she stared, horrified, at the road ahead of her.

"Opps!" He laughed, veering back into the proper lane, "There we go."

Sigourney shut her eyes and felt herself begin to breath again.

"I have to admit," Loki said cheerfully, "there are some differences between this craft and the ones I've piloted in the past."

The rest of the drive proved to be significantly less terrifying than that moment. They managed to reach the shop in one piece which surprised Sigourney greatly. Loki parked, half on the curb and half off, and jumped out of the car happily. Sigourney followed, legs threatening to give out at any second. He was already opening the trunk by the time she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She hurried to unlock the front door of the shop, frantically rummaging for her keys and cursing herself for not having a better system, as Loki slammed the trunk of the hatchback closed. He picked up the long flat boxes, one under each arm, and followed her inside.

"You can put those, ugh," She couldn't help but stare at him, "anywhere."

Loki set the boxes down in the middle of the open space in the center of the shop. Then he set his hands on his hips and examined them in much the same way he had the Ikea. With his insistence of helping, Sigourney and Loki set to taking all the remaining books off of the broken bookcase. He carried whole arm loads of encyclopedias as though they were flowers. Sigourney supposed it made sense that he would be impressively strong. It had just never really occurred to her before witnessing it first hand. Unlike his brother Thor, Loki didn't really look as though he could single handedly carry a bookcase outside. He was leanly built and very slender whereas Thor was put together like a lumberjack. Sigourney watched, amazed, as Loki's slim figure deposited the broken bookcase onto the curb.

After that, the two sat together in the middle of the floor, taking apart the boxes and hunched over the instructions, putting the new bookcase together. Loki was not particularly well versed in working as a team. He got in the way a great deal and was easily frustrated. Sigourney couldn't help but giggle into her hand, suppressing it as best she could, as she watched him sitting cross-legged on the floor. He swore under his breath and muttered to himself, a screwdriver in one hand, the instructions in the other. There was something oddly reassuring about Loki's struggle with the furniture. It made him seem…. more human.

Frustrated as he was, Loki wasn't unpleasant to be around. On the contrary, as she looked back on their day together, Sigourney found that she rather enjoyed his company. He could be sweet when his dazzling charm was turned off and the way he clumsily navigated the extremely human parts of her existence was endearing. If he had been someone she'd met at school, if he were an ordinary person like she was, Sigourney felt that she might grow to like him a great deal indeed. She smiled at the thought and reminded herself of the insurmountable cassim that sat between them. And then she remembered how he'd implied, just that very morning, that he loved her.

"Can I ask you another question?" She said, voice soft.

"Of course." He didn't look up from where he was fastening screws into holes along part of the partially assembled bookcase.

"Before," She started slowly, not really sure how to ask, "when you were talking about love at first sight and everything. Did you mean it? Do you… love me?"

Loki dropped what he was doing and looked up, his gaze steady on her face, "I do. Very much."

"But… why?" Sigourney shifted a little, suddenly uncomfortable, "You only just met me."

A smile spread across his face, reaching his eyes, but he said nothing.

"Loki." She pressed.

"I loved you the first moment I saw you." He told her, reaching to take her hand, "I know it's difficult for you to understand. It's difficult to explain. I don't… expect you to feel the same way."

It looked almost painful for him to say it.

"Just know that I do. And always will. That's all we need say on the matter." He concluded gently and dropped her hand.

Sigourney's mind was a blank. She had demanded the information, but now that she had it she didn't know what to do with it. She swallowed hard and stared at Loki. He had turned back to working on the book case, his face pensive as he continued to silently fight with the screwdriver. He loved her. She could feel it when he told her it was so. Something in her chest twanged. It was like a slack cord that extended out beyond her body was suddenly being pulled tight. She nearly moved with the motion of it. Sigourney shut off the part of her brain that was trying to tell her what that meant.

Loki changed the subject, "Tell me more about yourself. About your past."

"I…" It took her a moment to collect herself enough to reply, "I guess there isn't much to tell. Not really. I grew up here, went to school here, traveled a little. Then I came back because I missed it. I opened this place and… well, that's it really."

"Surely that's not all." He pressed, smiling kindly, "There must be something more."

She shrugged, "It gets… jumbled. I don't know how to explain it. Sometimes, if I think too hard about my childhood, it gets mixed up in my head. I can't really remember the order things happened in. Not in detail, at least. I know the big picture things. When I try to remember something, like that one time I fell off my bike and scraped up both my knees so bad I could hardly walk home, I can't remember how old I was. Just that it happened one summer before I started high school. I think I was still little, nine or ten maybe, but I remember the bike being blue. I didn't get a blue bike until I was fourteen. My first one was purple."

Sigourney wasn't certain why she was telling him all this. She never talked about her mixed up memories. She thought it best to stop before she got to the really confusing bits. The bits about playing in beautiful, sprawling, gardens that didn't exist. The bits about hiding under the oak table in an antique library, reading old books with delicate pages. At this point she had mostly convinced herself that those memories, the ones that were out of place, were just things she had dreamt as a very small child. There was a small voice in the back of her mind that always wondered, though. They seemed so real…

Loki listened to her clumsy explanation and smiled, "Memories are a tricky thing, that I understand. Thinking things happened one way only to later discover that they happened in another. Not knowing what is true and what is not."

Sigourney only smiled and nodded, taking comfort in what he said. It sounded as though Loki had had his own experience with such matters. It was reassuring. They finished assembling the bookcase together, chatting about the parts of her life that she did remember clearly. She told him about how her grandmother had told her stories from the Norse mythos when she was a child, which made him smile broadly. She told him about other things too. Her parents, her schools, her interests when she was younger. He listened happily, asking questions or pressing for more details. The strange feeling in Sigourney's chest grew as they spoke until it seemed to matter very little that she and Loki hadn't met at school.

Then, when the bookcase was finished and in the place of the old one, they reshelved all the books in comfortable silence. It was remarkable just how much Sigourney's opinion of Loki had changed since that morning. She couldn't help but watch him as he carefully set the books in place. She had been, initially, terrified of him when she learned who he really was. That had quickly faded into a strange kind of compassion, but now she felt warm to him. She didn't know if it was because she had spent time with him or if it had something to do with the fact that he loved her. What she did know was that she felt as though she knew him. As though she had always known him. If the adventures of the day had proved anything it was that Loki could be incredibly human. An odd thing to consider when one remembered that, technically, he was an alien Prince and a Norse Diety. Perhaps 'human' wasn't the right word. Perhaps 'person' was more fitting. Loki was, in fact, a person. And Sigourney rather liked him a lot.

She gently declined his offer of a ride home from the shop. Sigourney had had enough of Loki's driving for one day, not to mention the fact that she didn't want to think too hard about where he had gotten the car. Instead, they parted on the sidewalk out front the bookshop for the second time since their meeting. Sigourney thanked him for all his help and allowed herself to be talked into seeing him again the next day. It wasn't a hard sell.

As she lay in bed that night, Sigourney thought back over the events of the day. She not only had met but was, by his declaration, friends with Loki. Not the man who had laid waste to a city because he was mad at his brother, but the vibrant and friendly trickster who had stood out in the stories her grandmother had told her as a child. Sigourney wondered just how much of those stories were true. She also wondered what would happen to her if anyone found out she was spending time in his company. The words 'interplanetary war criminal' as well as 'aiding and abetting' lit up in her mind like a neon sign. Then came the image of herself in some prison that didn't technically exist, being asked questions she couldn't actually answer about the nature of her relationship with Loki. Sigourney shut her eyes tight and ignored the question she was too afraid to think about. Who had beaten and bloodied Loki that morning?

Eventually her mind drifted into dreams. She was back in the antique library she only half remembered, under the oak table with a sizable book. Sigourney dragged her fingertips lightly across the glossy pages, watching the illustrations twist and curl before her eyes. She was hiding from something, she couldn't recall what exactly. Then her father's boot-clad feet appeared beside her and she remembered. He knocked on the top of the table before stooping to look at her. He sighed as he took in the sight of her, stretched out on her belly, reading. He looked strange dressed in a dark blue linen tunic, his hair long and his lined face bearded.

"You said you would at least make an attempt today." He told her, more disappointed than stern.

She shrugged at him.

"You promised." He raised his bushy eyebrows at her, "You can't stay in this library forever."

"Mother does." Sigourney heard herself say.

"That's because it's my duty." Came her mother's diplomatic voice from somewhere beyond the table, "Listen to your Father. Go outside. Make friends."

"You did say you would at least try." Her father looked at her pointedly.

She sighed and pushed herself up onto her elbows. As she crawled out from under the table the dream changed and she was back in the gilded chamber. The old man slammed his scepter against the surface of the golden dais, the metallic sound ricocheting through the large room. Everything started spinning. The wall behind Sigourney opened up into a riot of colour and light. Her scream filled the chamber as the world dissolved into nothingness all around her once again. This time, though, it changed. The darkness swam with countless points of light that slowly came into focus. They were stars. Sigourney was looking up at the sky. Then, she awoke to the sound of birds singing outside her windows.


	5. Part 5

Part Five:

Sigourney sat on her floor, leaning against the side of her bed, head in her hands. She couldn't understand why the dream was suddenly different. Why, after years and years of relentless sameness, had it decided to change? Anyone else would have shrugged it off as nothing but a quirk of dreaming. As something that was liable to happen given the fluid and unpredictable nature of dreams. While Sigourney's dreams were fluid, they were also always completely predictable. No matter what occurred at the beginning, they always lead to the gilded chamber and ended in unsettling darkness. For that darkness to melt away into a night sky… it made no sense. Sigourney shuttered and dug her fingers further into her mass of wavy hair. She didn't understand what this meant. What had she done differently? What had changed in her life? She sat up straight and let her hands drop to her sides.

Loki.

Loki was different. Loki was the only significant change in her life. As if by cue there was the sharp rap of knuckles across her front door. The sound made her jump and her eyes flew in the direction it had come from. Sigourney didn't know how she knew it was him. She just knew. She could feel his shape through the wall and door separating them. She could see him without seeing him at all. The fictional cord in her chest pulled tight again, extending out through the wall and the door. Sigourney shut her eyes and forced herself not to think about it. It was unsettling. There was a second, less certain, knock at the door. She got up and answered it.

Loki stood there looking much as he had the day before. He was still barefoot, his long hair still untidy, and his face still mildly scuffed. He was wearing a dark green sweater, though, with the sleeved pushed up to his elbows in a most attractive way. He smiled sweetly at Sigourney and the discomfort she'd felt only moments before melted away.

"I trust you slept well?" Loki asked as she stepped aside to let him through.

"I had an odd dream." She told him, shutting the door, "Something about an old library and a sky full of stars."

He smiled again, "By all means, regale me."

Sigourney looked at him for a moment, chewing her lip. Should she? The dream felt connected to him in a way she couldn't explain. It had changed after she'd met him. He had even been in one a few nights ago. She remembered him being marched down the long corridor, bound in chains. Something nagged at her. It was a force inside her head clamoring to understand what was happening to her. This felt like a kind of start. Sigourney nodded, lead him into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

The story seemed to come out all at once. Sigourney told him everything about the dream from last night in as much detail as she could remember. She leaned against the kitchen counter, speaking of antique libraries and her father dressed in strange clothes. When the kettle came to a boil she fixed the tea and the two migrated to the table. There she told Loki all about the dream she'd been having for as long as she could remember. His fingers clutched his teacup as though he were afraid it might run off of he eased his grip. Sigourney tried not to think about it as she plunged on. She described things in as much detail as she possible could, explaining the parts she could remember clearly. When she finally came to the end, Loki looked almost as though he'd seen a ghost.

"What do you think it means?" She asked him, her voice filling the sudden silence that had settled around them.

Loki blinked a few times before drinking deeply from his cup, once again avoiding having to give an answer.

Sigourney frowned down at her own cup, "You always do this. I hate it."

"Do what?" He choked on his tea a little.

"You know perfectly well what I mean." She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, frustrated with him, "You always go quiet when you don't want to give me an answer."

He shifted in his seat and rested his hands on the table, "I know."

Sigourney opened her mouth to tell him how much his silence hurt her when she was suddenly struck by a wave of deja vou. She stopped and stared at him as the sensation washed over her. They had been standing in a large room with polished marble floors, arguing this very thing, as people dressed similarly to one another worked at laying a massive golden table. She and Loki had spoken in harsh whispers in their attempt to not be overheard. His hair had been shorter then. When the sensation passed she shut her eyes again tight.

"We've had this argument before." She mumbled half to herself, "Why do I remember… nevermind. It's impossible. I'm being foolish."

"You aren't being foolish." Loki told her in a gentle voice, "I cannot lie to you, Siggy. That is… not always a blessing. I have little choice but to hold my tongue when I think a truthful answer would cause you grief. I know it irks you. Forgive me."

"Why can't you trust me to decide what will grieve me or not?" She asked, "Loki, I…"

 _I love you. Why must you hide these things from me? I would not have given you away, though I might have tried to talk you out of your foolishness._

That was what she had told him in the hall with the massive dining table. Sigourney shut her mouth to stop the words from escaping her lips. Had she also dreamt that scene and just forgotten? She must have. It was the only explanation she could think of. Loki's fingers lightly touched her arm. They were freezing. His brow was furrowed in concern as he looked at her. The dream had left her out of sorts. That was all. She shoved the scene in the large chamber aside and tried her best to focus on what was happening around her.

When she trusted herself to speak again, Sigourney said, "I feel strange. My mind is all muddled up and I don't know why."

The familiar scratching and pawing sound of Fiske at the fire escape window filled the apartment. Sigourney was grateful for the excuse to get up. So far things had not gone the way she had hoped they would. She was making a mess of things. Loki, unfortunately, followed her into the bedroom.

"It's just my neighbor's cat." She explained, unlatching the window and opening it.

Fiske slipped inside with a happy meow. He rubbed up against Loki's pant leg before darting off into the kitchen.

"He want's breakfast." She shrugged, standing.

"May I?" Loki gestured to the bookshelf.

"Sure." Sigourney smiled and went into the kitchen.

When she came back from serving Fiske canned tuna, Loki was perched on the edge of her bed tentatively leafing through a comic book about himself. He furrowed his brow at the brightly coloured pages of _Loki: Agent of Asgard_. Sigourney watched him for a moment, unable to keep herself from smiling.

"What do you think?" She asked.

"Well," He sighed and looked up at her, "It's rather encouraging to know that there are people in this realm who believe me deserving of redemption."

"When you said you can't lie to me…" Sigourney sat down beside him on the bed, "Is it like it is in this?"

She pointed to the pages Loki was holding between his hands.

"Like how it is with Verity, I mean?" She explained.

"No." He reached out, putting the comic back onto the bookshelf without needing to sand up, "From what I gather she can see through any lie that's told to her. With you it's different."

"How?" Sigourney hoped he wouldn't go quiet again.

Loki took her hands between his, staring at them rather than meeting her eye, "I physically cannot lie to you. I don't know why, but I can't. I look at you and it's as though I'm compelled to speak the truth or else stay silent. It's not something I understand. I think it's part of why I…"

"Why you what?" She pressed gently.

"Of why I fell in love with you." He looked at her and smiled.

This again. Her stomach fluttered at the words and she wished it wouldn't.

"Can't you see how confusing this is for me?" She asked before she could stop herself, "I don't understand why you think you love me, why you say you can't lie to me. I don't understand why I dream of the things I do or what they mean. But I do know that you are at the heart of it all."

Everything that had built up over the past few days was crashing down all around her. It poured out of her like a flood and made her cry. Sigourney hadn't realized just how badly she'd been fighting to keep from drowning in all that had happened. It felt like there was a wall in her mind threatening to give out at any moment.

"I look at you, Loki," She went on, "and I'm so certain of something it hurts. But I don't know what. I don't understand why I feel like this about you. I should be afraid of you. You should hate me. But I'm not and you don't. Why me? Of all the people on Earth, why did you choose me?"

Loki pressed Sigourney's hands to the center of his chest and touched his forehead to hers. He was quiet for a long time. She wasn't going to let him back out of giving her an answer this time. If he changed the subject or danced around the questions she would just ask him again and again.

"I want to tell you." He said so softly Sigourney had to strain to hear, "I want to tell you everything, but I have no way of knowing what will happen if I do. I don't know how to undo what's been done and I fear that the only person who did is dead. She would have known what to do. She always did."

Loki pulled her into a hug. His arms wrapped around Sigourney tightly, pressing her to him, her head against his shoulder. This was… right. Like when he called her Siggy. It felt like it was how things should be. She closed her eyes, filled with the weight of his arms against her and the feel of his chest rising and falling steadily. She could hear his heartbeat through the fabric of his sweater. It's pounding was the rhythm of some long forgotten melody she had known all her life. How had she forgotten this sound? The invisible cord sprouting from her chest finally eased and Sigourney could no longer deny what it was tethered to.

It was a long while before either of them moved. For the first time since meeting Loki, Sigourney could think clearly. His embrace had somehow caused all her troubles and fears to melt away. She didn't understand it, but that no longer seemed important. It was just another thing to add to her long list. A list that could be dealt with later. Sigourney shifted her thoughts to the things she did understand. She knew that, for whatever reason, Loki was here. She knew that he loved her. And she knew that she shared something with him that bound them together more tightly than anything she'd known before. Sigourney slowly pulled away from him in order to see his face.

The scrapes and bruises from just the other day were nearly healed. Sigourney wondered why Loki didn't hide them the way he did his scars. She could almost see the rough marks lingering just under the surface of the face he was wearing. He looked so tired. She realized that the effort put into keeping up the charade must have been immense. Sigourney touched her fingertips to where she knew the scars around his mouth were. His skin felt smooth under her touch. Another illusion.

"Do you truly think it best that you don't tell me what's going on?" She asked him gently.

He nodded, "Yes. It would be better if you came to it on your own. Safer, I think. You've already started."

Sigourney had no idea what he meant by that. She supposed, though, that it was something she would just have to accept. In order to talk to her about these sort of things Loki had to do it in a roundabout way. She would just have to work at deciphering what he meant by the things he said.

"Alright." Sigourney nodded, "I'll try."


End file.
